


A Mighty Harmonist

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Post-Canon, Yuletide 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: The sea.
Relationships: Anne Elliot/Frederick Wentworth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	A Mighty Harmonist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ingreatwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingreatwaters/gifts).



> Title from William Wordsworth.

Land. A queer concept. Abstract almost, if one were so bold as to say so, were it not for the itch the soles of her feet sometimes got, at odd times, infrequently, aching for the sturdy feel of _land_.

Anne doesn't mind its lack, has not missed it the entire voyage out, the entire first year of matrimony. It is only now, so close to its arrival, that she knows its absence. It's truly a queer thing. Unexpected. Not utterly unwanted, however.

Frederick misses it the entire time, or so Anne believes. Sophia only seldom. It's not unusual for those at sea to feel its pull, the same way they mayhaps felt the pull of the water while shore-bound. The queerness of people who have known feeling entirely so intensely about it might shock some who have not, but Anne, though a novice where the seas are concerned, believes it is truly possible. Her soles do not deceive her.

It is not mentioned. This is the oddest thing about it all, how much it is not mentioned, as one might not mention the comfortable feeling of reaching one's home after a gruelling day away from it, morn to dusk, the hardship of populating spaces unknown and unwelcoming and not entirely homey.

Anne understands.

The sea is not a mistress, Anne now truly knows, she is wife and home and husband and life, equally welcoming to all who wish to make her such. It is only when one does not wish it, does not welcome it in kind, that she is idle and then treacherous. It does not appreciate its guests to be unruly and disruptive. Anne can understand.

Frederick never mentions this to her. She doesn't question him further about his relationship to the sea, to his ship, to the water and the land and the sky, because matrimony might be a bond but Anne believes it to be almost as much about quiet understanding and friendship as it is about being in someone's life and heart. If he wishes to confide, she will be there for him. But he does not, thus she does not, and it is exactly as she would want it to be.

*

Sophia misses the water. Anne sees it in her eyes, the lines around her face, the shadows beneath her lashes, the truly wistful way she stares out when inland as if in need of visual proof the seas are still there, somewhere, anywhere, waiting, waiting for her like only home truly can be waiting. Their friendship does not yet permit such confidences as Anne outright asking her if the spark of life she has seen in Sophia's eyes when the water is almost within sight is true, but she is here for a confidence on Sophia's part, if she wishes to share, to bond, to say the words and confirm a suspicion.

Anne will always be here.

*

She does not presume to know what her husband and her new sister see when they look at her, whether the light of the sea or the thrill of new land break colour in her cheeks or shine her eyes bright like the sun. She fears mirrors, has always done so, and much more since becoming a wife, a traveller, one of multiple spaces and multiples skies. The stars are different away from her childhood home.

*

The first night back knowing they shall be landed for a fortnight at the very least is a strange and weary one, unlike anything Anne has ever experienced, too much like a sickbed, a fever, a thing of unknowable consequences on her mind and body. Though the feel of Frederick with her in bed, his touch, his kiss, his gentle words, are all things which comfort and gentle their way into her soul, she is... _anxious_. Too still. Too afraid of the next day and the next. An overflowing sink and a hot bath on stable floors are not the same as a body of water itchy and giggly with salt and fishes and sand, caressing and mysterious and entrancing equally. Anne can't help blushing just thinking so, though it is the truth.

Frederick does not seem to mind. Anne does not mind not conveying her own thoughts. He will ask if he wants to know her mind.

Her feet stop itching swiftly enough once landed. Frederick's perhaps never do the entire time, or did not itch at all to begin with, but they do not seem to loathe the return to a rumbling ship either. Anne finds she welcomes it, the return, the sway of the water beneath wood and nails.

Only once the second day back at sea dusks merrily does she feel herself stable and surefooted and soothed by the spray of foam in the dead of night against the windows of their cabin, the crew asleep and the stars out and land away, away, so far away.

*

Another woman and another man might find themselves at odds when not telling of their feelings, their longings, these conflicting thoughts where their home is concerned, and though Anne has learnt much about how not telling can have the worst consequences, she has also learnt how much she is able to trust and _should_ trust, how much Frederick is to be trusted, how much his love will last regardless of the world, and she believes with her entire heart it is the same for him, his trust in her newly-minted, a thing of solid concrete in a storm.

In fact, she looks at him, his eyes on herself, the shine of them under a subarctic sun, his face windswept and his cheeks rosy from the heat and his heart on his sleeve, she knows the trust is there. And the sea might be wife and home and life, but Anne herself is all of those things as well, by choice just as much as the sea as far as Frederick is concerned.

And she knows it might be another year until they touch land yet again, but it is not too long. Her soles do not itch and her heart does not swell with longing for far-off places and her life is too near perfect for her to think about without weeping in gratitude and happiness. So she thinks on it no more, and instead wills herself to live it instead. A life well-lived is its own reward.

*

Years will pass, and then some more years after those, and feet will yearn as hearts do, but Anne understands the whys of it, and with Frederick there it can never be more than a queer little flutter of her heart and nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA 01/01/2020: And my [ tumblr](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
